


The Haunting

by SpookyGhosts



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Ghosts, Haunted Hotel, Ianto Jones-Centric, M/M, Owen Harper & Ianto Jones Friendship, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28596237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookyGhosts/pseuds/SpookyGhosts
Summary: Torchwood Three can deal with aliens, it's what they do. Ghosts, on the other hand, not so much.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Owen Harper/Toshiko Sato
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	The Haunting

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic in absolute years so I hope it's somewhat okay! 
> 
> Obviously, I don't own any of the BBC characters or Torchwood, this is just my idea!

_The nightmare finally starts, just like he knew it would. The failed conversion, a human, half-covered in metal. The dead look in her eyes as she tries to kill on sight. The pterodactyl, coming in to try and save his saviours. Then the nightmare shifts into darkness, he’s alone now, just like he always knew he would be. Ianto Jones has never believed in ghosts, not until the ghost of his ex-girlfriend started haunting him._

Just like any other day, Ianto Jones dresses in an impeccable suit, smoothes it down and heads for the tourist information centre. He presses the small button behind the desk and walks briskly down the gloomy hallway. Just like any other day, Ianto waits for the cog door to turn open and heads straight for the small kitchenette, he starts brewing the 8:00 am pot of coffee and just like any other day, Ianto finds a small stack of paperwork on the counter with a post-it labelled ‘archives’ in blue biro, underlined three times. Ianto also notices, just like any other day, that it’s Gwen’s handwriting.

He’s the only one here, save for Jack, who’s probably in his office right about now. Ianto takes the paperwork, shuffles it into a neat pile and takes a black ink pen from his jacket pocket. ‘Sort it properly first’ he writes in neat letters, underlines it three times and takes it to Gwen’s desk. The cog door rolls open and Owen saunters in, clad in his usual jeans, gimmicky t-shirt and a leather jacket. His hands are cupped around his mouth and Ianto can tell he’s blowing hot air into his hands. Right, the heating isn’t on because Jack never wants to be the one to put the heating on. Ianto inclines his head at Owen, who in turn holds up his pointer finger in salute as he walks down into his medical bay. 

Ianto turns the heating unit on and walks swiftly back to the little kitchenette, he pulls two clean mugs from a cupboard and pours the now hot coffee into the two mugs. In one mug, he adds sugar and milk, in the other, just sugar. He gathers the mugs and walks down into the med-bay, offering the milky coffee to Owen whilst reading one of the charts up on the wall.

Ianto takes a small sip, savours the taste and nods at the wall, “What have you got going on today?” 

Owen wraps his hands around his mug, the milk creating a cooler surface so he doesn’t outright scald his hands. “You know, I’m not entirely sure. I started this last night but I am stumped.”

Ianto eyes the chart. "Alien?” he asks. 

Owen sighs and nods. “Most probably. I’ll have another look in a bit, see what I can dig up.” Owen pauses and holds up his mug. “Coffee’s good this morning.” 

Ianto takes that as his cue to leave, he probably didn’t have to but as he climbs the small set of stairs, the cog door rolls open again to reveal Tosh. Her dark hair windswept from the outside and her handbag over one shoulder that she’s currently rifling through as she steps into the main hub. She looks up as she reaches her desk and Ianto offers her a welcoming smile, which is returned just as warmly. He wastes no time in bringing her morning coffee over, black with just the one sweetener. Although, in Ianto’s mind, Tosh is sweet enough. He gently places the mug on the coaster at her desk. 

“Thank you, Ianto,’ she responds, pushing her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. Ianto huffs a laugh through his nose and nods, patting her shoulder as he walks away. 

Of course, Jack chooses then to make his presence known to everyone, his heavy boots thudding on the metal grate above. 

“Has anyone seen or heard from Gwen yet?” He calls over the other three, Ianto looks up, Jack has one foot on the barrier, a phone in one hand and the other on his hip. He points at Ianto and motions taking a sip from a cup. Ianto gets the picture, nods once and heads back into the kitchenette. The other two shake their heads and Ianto hears Jack muttering to himself. 

He’s much more than the tea boy, he knows that. But it’s _his_ thing, it keeps him busy in the morning and he doesn’t have to be left alone with other thoughts. He likes bringing the team their coffee and tea, he likes that they go to him to ask for it. He wants that appreciation when they take the steaming mug from him and take their first sip. 

But Ianto also knows that he is a brilliant archivist and without him, nothing would be organised properly and no-one would be able to find anything if it wasn’t for him. That’s also _his_ thing. He’s also a brilliant shot, and so he’s needed on the field too but would rather be keeping an eye on things at the hub. 

The cog door rolls over once more and Ianto pulls out another mug to accompany Jack’s. He pours in the hot coffee and adds three sugars and a lot of milk, more than he would add in his personal opinion. 

He can hear Jack questioning Gwen on why she’s late but Ianto pays no attention, he silently takes over the mugs, placing one on Gwen’s desk and hurrying up the stairs to Jack. He’s walked up these stairs so many times with hot drinks that he’s learnt the art of not spilling any. Jack takes the mug from him, not even glancing in his direction, not even missing a beat from the conversation with Gwen. Ianto nods, mainly to himself and takes his chance to leave. 

The tourist information centre is mostly quiet, as it should be, it’s just a front. It’s also Ianto’s quiet place, the place he can work in peace and no one will bother him unless they need something. No one does disturb as he works for most of the morning. He heads back into the main hub, rolling his neck and flexing his fingers to get some movement after staring at a screen for a while. 

Ianto looks up as the door rolls open, he can see Jack in his office, he presumes that he’s writing something, Ianto can never be sure, that man is unpredictable. He glances over to the desks of the other three. Owen’s lounging back in his chair, feet crossed on the desk and reading some paperwork that’s in his lap. Tosh is staring intently at her screen, fingers sliding over keys as she runs a translation programme. Gwen’s glancing up at her computer now and then as she works on what Ianto guesses are the paperwork he left earlier. 

The small kitchenette doesn’t have many cupboards, there’s one for mugs, one for snack foods, one for storing the spare sugar, coffee and anything that could go into coffee, or tea and a small fridge. But Ianto always manages to keep a small number of dark chocolate bars hidden at the back of the coffee cupboard. He nabs one, carefully opening the plastic. He climbs the steps to the second floor and leans over the railing and blows a sharp whistle between his lips. 

Myfanwy, the beautiful pterodactyl, named after a beautiful Welsh goddess who sang like an angel, swoops down to Ianto, her sharp amber eyes meeting his own. She flaps her wings and perches on the railing at the end of the catwalk. Ianto takes a piece of the chocolate from the packet and holds out his hand, slowly approaching pteranodon, he knew she wouldn’t hurt him but it didn’t cost anything to be cautious. 

“You can’t keep feeding her just chocolate y’know,” Jack’s voice rings, startling Ianto, he pats Myfanywy on her rough, scaly head and turns to Jack, leaning onto the rail behind him. 

“She deserves it, Sir,” he replies, smoothing down his suit jacket and smiling gently at the creature.

He can feel Jack’s eyes on him still and Ianto doesn’t want to look, he breaks another piece of chocolate off and waits for Myfanwy to come to him. She swoops down and settles on the metal railing, folding her wings elegantly. Ianto smiles at her and she takes the chocolate from his hands. Her beady eyes meet his and she screeches quietly that Ianto can only think means thanks and she flys off, back to her nest at the top of the water tower.

There’s a huff behind him and then the sound of Jack’s heavy footfalls retreating back to his office. Ianto breathes out a breath he doesn’t realise he’s holding. He sets his shoulders and steps towards Jack’s office, the metal grates clanking under his feet almost feel like it’s mocking him. He reaches Jack’s office and balls one fist around the empty chocolate wrapper as the other hand knocks gently on the glass door. 

Through the glass, Jack looks at him and inclines his head ever so slightly for Ianto to enter. Jack’s hands are clasped under his chin and he’s gazing up at Ianto expectantly. 

Ianto clears his throat, “Is there anything you need me to do this morning, Sir?” 

“Yeah, I got a call from Gwen’s friend, the police guy. Could you keep an eye on any calls that go to the police? There’s been a few Weevil sightings,” Jack looks down at some paperwork and then back at Ianto, “if you have time, I mean.” 

“I’ll get right on it, Sir,” Ianto replies shortly and turns on his heel, leaving the office before Jack can reply. 

***** ***** *****

He’s the first one to intercept the police call about three gangly hunched over teenagers in masks scaring the locals. Teenagers, they’d said, sure. Perhaps Ianto should break Janet out of her cell and get them acquainted. 

He notes down the location on a post-it and radios through to Jack about the three Weevil’s. He’s not surprised when Jack asks him to come along with himself and Owen. Ianto needs something to keep him busy. He tells Jack he’ll have the car outside in five minutes. 

The black SUV sits in the garage next to the hub, Ianto has just got her all cleaned up so in the light she looks as though she’s glittering. Ianto checks the back, double-checking that they have everything to catch the Weevils. Satisfied, he hoists himself into the driver’s side and turns the engine over and drives out onto the Plass, just next to the Rift. Ianto swears under his breath, he’s just got the car cleaned and it rains. Bloody brilliant. He makes sure to turn the wipers on full, this rain won’t be letting up anytime soon.

Ianto leaves the engine on and climbs into the back, entering the co-ordinates where the Weevil’s were last seen, knowing that Tosh will keep on top of it as they move through the city. Jack and Owen reach the SUV and when Ianto finally looks up, Jack’s already seated. Owen’s the last to climb inside and instead of joining Jack in the front, he climbs in opposite Ianto, zipping up his leather jacket to his chin and muttering about the rain. 

Jack wastes no time and pulls out of the Plass, revving the engine unnecessarily loud. The tyres squeak beneath them but both Ianto and Owen are used to Jack’s reckless driving so they don’t comment. Owen’s talking to Tosh through the comm unit, he tilts the screen next to Ianto and they both watch as it continually updates where the three aliens are. 

The car journey is mostly quiet, the rain pounds the roof loudly and drowns out most of the silence. Ianto doesn’t say much anyway, just keeps himself busy watching the navigation screen, the three red dots stopping every so often before moving on. Jack will ask the occasional question and either Owen or Ianto will answer him. Owen’s monitoring the other screen they have in the car. Jack’s driving has calmed down, he’s got to be a little more cautious now they’re in a busier part of the city. Owen’s got through to Tosh whose voice is now guiding them through the city.

“Jack! Left!” Tosh shouts and Jack throws the car left, Ianto and Owen both lean with the car and then Jack slams on the brakes. 

“One hundred metres away from you, park in the car park near you and go on foot,” Tosh instructs, the car moves again, slowly as Jack rolls to a gentler stop in the empty car park. The rain is still lashing down as all three of them exit the SUV. 

“Okay so, we each take our own Weevil. Net, spray and then cuff them. You ready?” Jack commands, passing each of them a net, spray and cuffs, “We only use our guns if completely necessary, just like usual. We don’t wanna be out here in the rain more than we need to.” 

Ianto pockets the spray and loops the cuffs between his fingers. He grips the handle of the net firmly and wipes his brow with his sleeve. The rain really doesn’t help them in these situations, Ianto notes. 

The three of them follow Tosh, who’s now coming through their ear comm systems. The Weevil’s have stopped running so it makes them a lot easier to track down. 

Jack, Owen and Ianto ran down the road, nets in hand as they reach the three creatures. Two of them are easily caught but the third, the one Jack goes for, manages to evade the net and lashes out. Jack narrowly avoids getting hit, jumping back and bringing the net down brutally. He captures the Weevil and before it can lash out again, Jack slams the hand clamps on them. 

“This one… does not want to go,” Jack grunts, pulling out his Anti-Weevil spray and spraying the creature in the face. 

Owen and Ianto easily manage to get their Weevil’s sprayed and clamped, they look quite the trio walking back to the SUV; each keeping a hold on three extraterrestrials wearing blue jumpsuits. Jack opens the back of the car and pushes his Weevil in, he steps back to let the other two and slams the door shut. He hops back into the driver side whilst Owen dials Tosh and Gwen back at the hub. 

“Okay, let’s get back to the hub, put them into the cells, and see what we can do with them.”

Ianto Jones left work late that night, after everyone else had clocked off for the night, he was still sitting at his desk in the tourist information centre. He’d bid his goodbyes as everyone left, even Jack, who wanted to get out for a while. He finishes writing in his journal about the aliens that day and clicks his pen.

Leaning back in his chair, Ianto let out a breath and briefly closed his eyes. He rolled his neck around and then leant down to grab his bag from under the desk. Carefully, he placed in some paperwork, a book and his journal. Double-checking his desk, Ianto switched off the computer, grabbed his keycard and keys. As he’s about to leave, he spins around and sets the alarms for anyone that tries to get in.

The wind catches on the front door of the tourist centre as Ianto leaves and battles to slam the door. He fumbles with the keys and eventually manages to lock the door. Not that anyone in their right mind would try and get in in this weather. 

The rain is still beating down as it had been most of the day and Ianto had been an idiot and not brought a coat. He hugged himself against the wind, head bowed against the rain and walked up to the Plass. The docks were always slippery in this weather and Ianto took extra care to not fall flat on his face. 

As he reached the Plass, the icy wind rips through Ianto now he doesn’t have the wall for cover, he pulls his suit jacket tighter and picks up his pace to get down some of the back alleys where at least he’d be shielded from some of the wind. 

As Ianto walked home, all he could think is how could he forget a coat on today of all days. 

  
  


***** ***** *****

Just like any other day, Owen Harper had been the first one to leave the hub for the night. He’d hung his white medical coat over his computer frame and just like any other night, he’d pulled on his leather jacket. He’d called out his goodbyes and made his way out through to the tourist centre. He called out a hasty goodbye to the empty office, assuming that Ianto was behind the beaded curtain. 

Just like any other night, Owen walked to his navy sports car and turned over the engine, he turned the volume up on the stereo and drove away from Torchwood to escape the day he’d had. 

God, all he wanted was a drink, a few shots and maybe an easy lay. Not that his day had been hard, it had just dragged and he couldn’t work out what the skeleton was that he was working on, something had thrown him.

Owen was lost in thoughts as he drove home, he wasn’t fully concentrating on the road, he was hoping he knew the route well enough and could drive it with ease. Except when it rained. When it rained so many more people were on the road, sheltered in their cars because they didn’t want to walk. Who would? 

When Owen gets to his flat, he changes his shirt, shedding the old gimmicky t-shirt for a black button-up. He rushes into the bathroom, smears some gel onto his hands and rakes his fingers through his hair, tousling it messily. Owen spritzes himself with a fancy aftershave and quickly gargles some mouthwash. He’s in and out of the flat within a few minutes. He shrugs his leather jacket back on and that’s when he pauses. 

It’s pouring out there, he can’t walk to the bars and knowing Owen’s luck there’ll be no taxis. Okay, so, one drink, he says to himself. One drink and then I can still drive. He fumbles his keys around and then he’s out the door again. 

Driving through the Cardiff roads, wipers on full as the rain continues to fall heavily, Owen swears under his breath. Why did everyone and their mum need to be on the road when it rained? He drives past a couple of the bars he’d hope he’d be stopping at, he spares a longing glance. It was probably fruitless; he knows if he went to a bar he’d drink himself silly, then he’d have to find a different way home and leave his car until the morning. Even Owen didn’t see the point tonight. The queues were long at the bars, young couples and groups standing out in the pouring rain. 

Owen reaches the roundabout at the end of the round, luckily he was stuck behind a few other drivers as he deliberates. Get drunk and faff around in the morning, or go home, have a few beers and sit in front of the telly all night? The queue moves forward and Owen’s fingers dance over the indicator. 

Sighing, he pushes the indicator down and turns left at the roundabout that would take him back home and he drives down the road. Traffic was also still built up here as Owen’s car rolls to a stop behind another queue of traffic. This time, the queue is at a standstill, Owen’s hands move restlessly on the steering wheel, drumming lightly to the music that’s playing over the stereo. 

“Come on,” he murmurs to himself, a frustrated sigh leaving his mouth. The car ahead pulls away and Owen saw the closed road sign that had been blocked from his view before. 

“Brilliant, that’s just, fucking brilliant,” Owen breathes as he follows the other car, turning right down an unknown road. Following the diversion signs, Owen’s journey becomes a lot longer than he’d anticipated. He turns down a road behind some houses on a new estate and slows down, the rain falling in icy sheets obscures his vision, even when the wipers were on full. 

Owen pulls the car to a stop, taking a minute to gather where he is and tried to see ahead of him. The wipers are working frantically to push the rain from the windscreen. Owen sits with his hands on the steering wheel, staring ahead when he sees a figure towards the small back alley next to his car. 

Poor soul, walking in this weather with not even a coat. Poor soul or idiot? Idiot, Owen decides as he watches the person. They stop at the road, checking the road was clear before they cross and Owen catches a glimpse of their face when they look up. 

He knows that idiot, that idiot is fucking Ianto Jones, walking in this shitstorm of rain with no fucking coat on. Owen watches him cross the road and then decides to act. 

“Jesus Christ,” Owen mutters as he kills the engine and hastily gets out of his car. Head bowed against the rain, he manages to catch up, splashing water up to his jeans. 

“Ianto, what the fuck are you doing?” Owen shouts, stopping and waiting for the younger man to turn around. 

“Walking home,” Ianto replies dryly. Owen can see that Ianto is soaked through and must’ve walked from the hub. 

“You don’t say, come on, I’ll give you a lift,” Owen holds up his keys. Ianto shakes his head and turns around again. 

Owen lurches forward and grabs Ianto’s sodden wrist. The other man whirled around and pulls his wrist from Owen’s grasp, throwing him a strange look. 

“Oh come on, Ianto, let me just take you home, doctors orders.” 

Ianto’s shoulders slump and he walks back towards Owen, resigned. Owen nods and throws his keys and catches them again. He walks two steps ahead of Ianto, although he was sure that Ianto was deliberately walking slower. The two reach the car and Owen slides in silently, turning the engine over and waits for Ianto to sit next to him. 

Owen glances over once he pulls out onto the main street at Ianto, who looks soaked through, he was looking out the window, making sure he didn’t attract Owen’s attention. Owen turns back to the road, his fingers fiddling with the stereo system. Light music plays throughout the car, lessening the tension that had seemed to build over the few minutes. 

“Why?” Ianto utters quietly if he had said it any quieter Owen probably wouldn’t have heard. 

“What do you mean, why?” Owen retorts back. 

“Why did you stop and make me get in the car. You’ve never bothered to help me before, what makes today so different.” 

Owen sighs and realises then that he never knew where Ianto lived, they’d worked together for nearly three years. The more he thought, the less he knew about the other person, only that he’d worked at Torchwood One, brought his half-covered cyber girlfriend to Cardiff, had been beaten, threatened and was excellent at making a cup of coffee. Oh, and that he had terrible aim. But he knew nothing of the others’ personal life. 

Only recently, he’d started making the effort with Tosh and listened to what she had to say, he’d taken an interest in her skills, how she could track someone down in less than five minutes, what she liked to drink when they all went out, what her favourite colour was as she wore it most. 

Jack was still a mystery to everyone, sure, they knew some things but the more they knew the more he kept secret and Owen wasn’t entirely sure he’d want to know once that door opened. The team would find out one day, though and Owen hoped that 

“I don’t know,” Owen pauses, “I guess I’m just trying to be nice.” 

Ianto made a noise that sounded like a scoff but stays silent. Owen chances a glance, Ianto was still staring out of the window. 

“Where do you live?” Owen asks, trying once more to get Ianto to open up to him. 

Ianto shifts, turning to look out the front window, “I’ll guide you,” he says softly.

“You know you should really invest in a coat, mate, it might help when the weather is like this.” Owen jokes, attempting to lighten the mood now that Ianto wasn’t sulking. 

“It’s at home, it wasn’t too bad this morning and the forecast said overcast. I didn’t think I’d need one,” Ianto reasons, staring ahead still. “Take the next left,” he instructs. 

Owen nods, following the instructions. They continue that way until Ianto tells him to slow down as they near a quaint cul-de-sac of bungalows. Owen easily knows which one is Ianto’s; all the others have various lights on, the light seeping out from under the blinds or curtains. It’s a nice neighbourhood, and exactly what he’d pegged Ianto to have. 

Owen pulls over at a small bungalow, neat hedges lined the front garden with a bolted gate. He turns the engine off and twists in his seat to Ianto. 

“Here we are, home sweet home. Hopefully, you won’t get a chill after your stunt. Are you going to be okay?” Owen asks, scrunching his nose up at how damp the passenger seat has gotten. 

“Always am,” Ianto quips back, his hand on the door handle, “Thank you, Owen. You didn’t have to.” 

Owen waves off the thanks and looks at Ianto properly; he looks tired, almost ill but Owen doesn’t touch on the subject. Ianto takes the silence as his cue to leave. He shuts the door gently, shoving his hands in his pockets and walks towards the small gate. Owen stays for a few extra minutes, to make sure he got inside. 

An inside light flicks on, Owen starts his car again and pulls away from the street. His night had gone from wanting to pick some women up in a bar to wondering about his quiet co-worker. He drove, going away from the pubs and back to his flat. 

Once back home, he meanders in his kitchen, pulling a beer from the fridge and a pizza from the freezer. He absently turns on the oven, shoving the pizza in and sips on his beer, lost in thought. He pads towards his bedroom, socked feet making next to no noise in the fluffy carpet. Owen opened his wardrobe, searching through the various garments that hung neatly, giving each one a few seconds scan. He finally pulls out a thick, grey jacket, he’d bought it ages ago and never worn it, deciding that it definitely wasn’t his style. Owen hangs the jacket on the door handle, not giving it another look as he steps back into the kitchen living room. 

There wasn’t a justifiable reason why he wants to help out Ianto, he’s never tried before but there was something off about how Ianto had just dismissed Owen’s comment about the rain. It was probably nothing. It didn’t mean anything. Yet, Owen still felt compelled to help him.

“Fucking Ianto Jones,” Owen mutters again, sipping his beer and flicking the telly on for the night. 

***** ***** *****

It’s eight in the morning sharp when Ianto walks through the cog wheeled door, and just like yesterday, he makes the coffees as the others arrive. He files the paperwork that’s been left for him from the previous day and he cleans up the hub from the day before, just picks up the odd wrapper here and there, the odd scrunched up wad of paper. 

What Ianto doesn’t miss are the looks Owen keeps throwing his way. So far, Ianto has ignored everyone, but he’s noticed them and he doesn’t want to know why all of a sudden Owen is suddenly showing an interest in him. Ianto wishes for a quiet, mundane day where he can be left alone and work on his paperwork that’s been left for him to do. 

Jack calls them to the board room, before Ianto goes, he goes to make the coffees for everyone, just how they like it, in their preferred mugs. He carries the tray easily to the room and sets in the middle of the table. 

As Ianto sits down, the others grab their mugs with their thanks and turn to Jack who’s sitting at the head of the table, a screen behind him with what looks like CCTV footage from the night before. Ianto leans to take his mug and looks towards Jack but instead catches Owen looking at him again with another odd look. Ianto ignores it and warms his hands on the hot ceramic of his mug. 

“The three Weevil’s we caught yesterday look as though they weren’t the first, last night we had three more come up to the surface, but all three of them were interested in one of the old hotels that’s on the outskirts of Cardiff. There’s no CCTV of the hotel, it went out of commission years ago but I did manage to find footage of the Weevil’s running towards it from the street cameras,” Jack finished, stepping out of the way so they could watch the footage. The Weevil’s didn’t seem interested in the people, they beelined, just like Jack said, straight for the hotel. 

“I know that hotel, we used to mess around near it when we were kids,” Ianto stated quietly, “That’s the Hotel Violetta, closed down in seventy-seven, why are the Weevil’s suddenly keen?” 

“That’s what I want to find out. Do you know why it closed down or anything about it?” Jack asked the group. 

Gwen shook her head, “I’ve never really heard of it, I know it was there but I don’t know the story or history. I think Rhys might know it though.” 

Jack turned his attention to Ianto, “Ianto, project for you as Tosh has some things to do. Can you get me the history, what it’s got to do with the rift, any activity recently, just everything to do with that hotel today?” 

Ianto nodded, pushing the chair away from him as he stood, still gripping his mug, “I’ll start it now, Sir.” He made an easy getaway from the room, stepping into the main hub and through to the cog wheeled door. The narrow corridors still held that morning chill, it was lucky that Ianto had turned on the small heater in the tourist centre when he arrived in the morning. 

Just as it should be, the tourist centre was empty, Ianto’s little sanctuary. He set the now warm mug down next to his computer and headed through the beaded curtain, paused and took two steps back. A stone-grey jacket hung on a hanger on the postcard display rack.

Ianto frowned and took the hanger, examining the unfamiliar coat. It then clicked where it had come from, he remembered Owen’s comment about a jacket last night and tutted to himself. Still holding the hanger, Ianto went through the beaded curtain, hung the coat hanger on the back of the door and turned on the large printer next to him. It whirred to life and Ianto patted the top, going back to sit at his chair. 

The research was easy for Ianto, the access that the Torchwood computer system had could give him all the information he wanted, and more. He started with a simple search of the hotel and being the thorough person that he was, printed the map. Going further, he looked up any underground tunnels or sewers that would pass through the same location and printed them too. 

Local points of interest where next, he printed the maps for them and then annotated the map with the underground lines in red. He added the original opening date for each one and moved onto the hotel’s previous owners. 

Of course, the original owners had long since passed but Ianto managed to find a few contacts of the employees before the hotel shut its doors for good. Posing as a history student, Ianto sent an email with a made-up address asking about why the hotel was supposedly haunted and what went on day today. He sent a few of these, the same copied and pasted email. 

Next, was the articles and local folklore on why people still believed the place to be haunted. He printed each one, just in case. Ianto finally collected the rest of the printouts, still warm and sat back and added notes to each article as he read, looking up certain points as he went. 

It was midday when Ianto looked at the time, he’d been so engrossed in his research that he hadn’t bothered to keep an eye on the time. He rolled his neck a few times and locked the computer, picking up his phone. Ianto sent a text to Jack, telling him that he was now going to pick up some lunch and coffee for the others. 

  
  


***** ***** *****

  
  


Twenty minutes later, Ianto is passing the food around to the other members of the team. He knows their orders, of course, he does. Gwen’s usual is an egg salad sandwich with a cup of tea. 

“Oh thanks, Ianto, I’m starving,” she comments, taking the sandwich and cup from him at her desk. 

He moves to Toshiko’s desk and sets down her tuna salad sandwich on the desk and her latte on a coaster. She smiles at him and utters her thanks as Ianto moves towards Jack, who was sitting down with them for once. 

Jack takes his lunch from Ianto, watching him as he approaches and then winks at him. Ianto only nods, he wants to at least try and stay professional today. 

Ianto walks down into the medical bay and hands Owen his food with a black coffee. Owen instead waves for him to put it on one of the small tables. 

“There are extra napkins there for you; I don’t fancy cleaning up after you again,” Ianto comments, hand on the rail as he’s about to retake the steps. 

“Yeah, well at least I’m not stinking out the hub with egg, like Gwen,” Owen replies, not looking up from his reports. 

Ianto pauses on the steps, remembering the jacket that Owen’s left in the tourist centre, “you’ve left one of your jackets in my area, by the way.” 

“Uhh, no I don’t think I did,” Owen shakes his head, still involved with the reports in his hands, “my jacket’s over my chair at the desk,” Owen then looks up and nods over at his desk. 

Ianto raises an eyebrow but says no more of it. He leaves the med bay and pulls a seat over between Gwen and Tosh.

“So, Ianto, what did you find out about that hotel?” Jack asks between bites of his sandwich. 

“Oh you know, just the usual. I researched some of the old employees, sent one of them an email from a different address, posing as a history student with a different name who’s doing some research on the old local hotels. I also managed to get all the articles on why some say it’s haunted. I’ll have them on your desk for this afternoon, Sir,” Ianto replies, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Why am I the only one sitting down here like a fucking loner?” Owen’s voice echoes up to where the others are sat and they all look over as they hear his footsteps. He rolls his eyes and comes over to join them. One hand carrying his array of napkins and sandwich, the other carrying his coffee. He flops down at his desk chair and pushes away from the desk, gliding smoothly across the floor so they’re all sitting around Jack. 

Jack carries on, tearing his eyes from Owen and ignoring the outburst, “That’s great, thanks Ianto.” 

Ianto nods and finishes his lunch quietly. He listens to the others chat and gets involved every now and then, but that damn hotel occupies his mind. He listens as Gwen tells them about her date night with Rhys and how everything just fell through, how they turned it around and ended up just on the sofa with pizza and old soap reruns. Ianto smiles gently as Gwen turns to Tosh to talk about their girls night pub crawl that Gwen planned. 

  
  


***** ***** *****

_Dear Mr Fowler,_

_Thank you for your interest in the hotel, I can’t say this reply will help you very much with your paper but I can tell you most of what I know about the Hotel Violetta._

_The Hotel Violetta opened in 1922, located on the outskirts of Cardiff - perfect for those who wanted a city break but also wanted some peace and quiet. The owners, Mr and Mrs Livingston, were just an ordinary couple. I never met them obviously, but everyone still spoke about them in high spirits. A portrait of them still sits in the foyer of the hotel._

_From what I know, they were fair people and made a living from the hotel to a point where they expanded and added the two upper floors. They held jazz nights every week, a tradition that was still there when I worked there._

_One of the rumours that went around in my time there was about the sound of the jazz band, they could still be heard late at night, even after they’d packed up. The saxophone’s music would float around the top floors. One woman swore she saw someone playing it but I never worked that late at night. It was just a rumour, something she’d made up._

_Another rumour was that after the basement flooded, water splashing and someone slamming doors would be heard in the foyer. I did hear some doors but never thought much of it, people used to slam doors all the time._

_Some say there were tragic accidents that would happen to some of the staff and that there was a quick staff turnaround. I mean, people can just quit can’t they, it doesn’t mean dodgy things are going on._

_One thing that never felt right for me was a heaviness. There always seemed to be a heaviness in the air or that someone was dragging me down. It never felt right, and some rooms just felt wrong to go into. No one ever spoke about it, I mentioned it once but it was brushed aside._

  
  


_Now, I’m not fully aware of the full goings-on. It was an easy job for me there, waiting on tables in the restaurant area. I don’t know if shady things were happening behind closed doors. I just did my job and went home._

_When I resigned in the ‘80s, I did feel like a weight had been lifted from me. That heaviness left and I moved on, went to university and never looked back on my job there._

_People say to me even now that they get a bad feeling from the place, that they get chills, that it’s cursed but I only felt the heaviness working there._

_I’m sorry this email is a mess. I’ve never really thought if what happened was really true, people make stuff up all the time. I hope it can at least give you some insight into what it was like._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Martin Cook_

***** ***** *****

Ianto was cross-referencing the email with the rest of his research, making sure the articles, emails and research added up. Satisfied, Ianto highlights key points and attaches photographs to other documents that he’d found through various databases. Carefully, Ianto pushes his work into a brown manilla file and labels it in his neat handwriting. He locks his computer and takes the file through to the others. 

The cog door rolls open once again and Ianto steps down into the main hub, the other three are immersed in their work, he pauses at Tosh’s desk and looks at her screen, reading the scan she’s running. Tosh looks over her shoulder when she notices Ianto standing there and swings on her chair to face him. 

“I’m scanning the area where the Weevil’s came through yesterday, overlap it with the sewer pipes and see where the nearest entrance is near the hotel,” she explains, pulling up the sewer network map with a click of her mouse. 

Ianto raises his eyebrows and smiles at her, “I’m so glad we’ve got you, Tosh,” he remarks and holds up the file in his hands, “I’ve got all the information I could find. Emails, photographs, articles, statistics. It’s all in here.” 

“And I’m so glad we have you, Ianto,” Jack says from above him. He’s leaning on the railing, one foot resting on the barrier and his hands clasped in front of him, hanging over the top rail, “You worked your magic in, what?” Jack looks at his watch on his right wrist, “a little over five hours.” 

Ianto shrugs and sets his face, “you know me, Sir. I like to be thorough with all of this,” he replies. Jack laughs and kicks off the barrier, his fingers dancing over the rail as he walks down the catwalk, Jack hops down the stairs, stops right in front of Ianto and holds out his hand expectantly. 

Ianto drops the file into Jack’s hand and pulls one of the spare chairs over to Tosh’s desk, sitting next to her as Jack looks over the documents. Ianto watches as his eyebrows raise at a few of the articles he has there. He starts to hand Gwen the pieces he’s already read and she takes them gratefully, giving them a read too. 

  
  
  


***** ***** *****

  
  


Ianto decides to take the scenic route on his walk home, he knows he won’t get stopped by Owen, it’s a clear evening, with a slight chill. As he leaves he grabs his jacket from the hanger on the way and shrugs it on, one hand fumbling for the keys. He’s not the last one to leave tonight, for a change, so he doesn’t worry about locking up. 

The wooden panels on the docks aren’t slippery tonight, and Ianto’s grateful that knows he won’t slip over climbing the steps to the Plass. He rustles in his jacket pocket for the pack of tissues that he always keeps in there and notes that they aren’t there. With a frown, he searches the other pocket and then looks down and realises that in his hurry he’d put on Owen’s jacket, the one he’d left for Ianto. He debates going back to the hub and leaving this one in the information centre but he’s tired and wants to just get home so he keeps the jacket on. It helps against the cold and keeps the wind off him. 

The scenic route takes him past the old hotel and as much as he doesn’t want to see it, part of him does. He deliberates at a set of traffic lights and in the end chooses to stop by, to see if it still gives him the creeps. 

The roads are pretty empty, the only people around are the teenagers that are hanging out in their groups and the few that are on their commute home. Ianto prefers this route, it’s definitely nicer to walk down, although it is a lot longer for him to go. 

The hotel is just as he remembers it from years ago. It looms over him in the evening light and Ianto swallows down his doubt. He takes the steps two at a time and approaches the door handle. The wood is old, and splinters scatter the surface. Ianto reaches out for the handle, which still seems intact. He drops his hand, shakes his head and turns to go back down the steps. 

He doesn't know that someone was standing on the other side of the road watching him, or that the entire Torchwood team is being watched. 

Ianto gets to the small gate at his home, sidles through it and hurries in. 

The rest of the evening passes in a blur, not helped by the fact that he was on the phone to his sister for over an hour. He has his tea, watches a bit of TV and then gets another phone call, this time from Tosh. It’s become part of his routine that they either text or have a phone call, it’s nice to have her there, even in the background while he sorts out his washing or while he’s doing the dishes. 

When he finally climbs into bed, he’s exhausted but he still reaches over for the book on his nightstand and thumbs through to his bookmark. It’s late but he wants to finish the chapter.

Ianto feels the sleep tugging at the corner of his eyes and he attempts to blink it away. He focuses his attention back on his book and blinks again, shifting the fogginess. The words come back into focus briefly before blurring. Just this page, then I’ll sleep, he tells himself. 

He knows he should sleep, knows that if he doesn’t he’ll be exhausted again tomorrow. Hopefully tonight, it won’t be so bad. Hopefully tonight, I won’t be haunted by the nightmares that seemed to follow him endlessly. Ghosts of his past, more recently, Torchwood One employees. 

But Ianto Jones didn’t believe in ghosts. 

  
  
  



End file.
